


No Salt Fries

by ChibiCorgi (MerryCorgis)



Series: FOBCC Works [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Demons, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 15:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10027847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerryCorgis/pseuds/ChibiCorgi
Summary: Patrick Stump hunts supernatural beings for a living, and this leaves him hopping from town to town between cases. He knows every town has its secrets, and the backwater diner he finds himself frequenting may be the key to solving his latest case.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the Fall Out Boy Creations Challenge. This month's theme was relationships, and my prompt was Patrick Stump + Brendon Urie. Of course, I can't just write a normal fic so //shrugs
> 
> I was originally going to post this as a one-shot, but life caught up to me and I'm not done with this universe, so it's going to be chaptered!
> 
> Major thanks to LunaeLumen for being my beta/co-conspirator/cheerleader for this fic <3

Tonight was one of those nights when Patrick did not like his job. Normally, he enjoyed travelling cross-country, going from case to case and driving back to Chicago at the end of every month to collect more intel. 

This case, however, case number 563, had him sitting in his battered Cavalier, outside an all-night diner on the outskirts of Buttfuck Nowhere, Nebraska, trying to scrawl out legible notes in his journal while the thoughts were fresh in his head.

_Case #563_

_Run-down barn just outside of town had pentagram carved in floorboards. Some sulfur residue within. Demon summoned within the month, tops. No known contact._

Patrick snatched his keys out of the ignition, shoved the journal and pen into the inside pocket of his jacket and shoved the creaky car door open. He patted his waist down to make sure that his survival knife was still sheathed and clipped to his belt. There was no such thing as being too cautious in his profession.

He locked the car and made his way into the diner, only to be greeted by an electronic door chime and the stench of burnt coffee. The Dixie Chicks were playing softly from the overhead speakers. It was unsurprisingly empty for 2 am. At least service would be quick.

“I’ll be right with you!” Called a voice from the kitchen, followed by hurried footsteps. A man with shaggy dark brown hair and a flour-caked black tee grabbed a single-page menu from the front desk and shot Patrick a smile that was far too genuine for this time of night. “Hi, sorry ‘bout that. My name’s Brendon, and I’ll be your server today. Feel free to sit wherever.” He waved lazily to the dining area and handed Patrick the menu. Blue service bandaids were wrapped haphazardly on his fingers and the back of his palm. “I'll be back with some water, alright?” He nodded and dashed back into the kitchen, his sneakers squeaking against the laminate.

Patrick glanced down at the menu, craving caffeine more than any food, and decided to seat himself in the window booth that had the least cracks in its vinyl.

He leaned back into the bench, eyes shut, and took a few deep breaths. It was a long day of driving, and Patrick was prepared for a full night of investigating. Witching hour was coming up, and if he couldn't get any information from the locals, he could always pry some details from the residual energy at the summoning site or from a crossroads demon.

The clink of glass against the table drew Patrick out of his thoughts. “Can I get you anything else?” Brendon stood before him, pen and grease-stained notepad at the ready.

“Coffee, please,” Patrick said, “and a side order of fries.” He knew he'd be a jittery mess if he took the coffee on an empty stomach.

Brendon hummed his affirmation as he jotted Patrick’s order down. “The coffee’s a bit old,it'll be a few minutes for a fresh cup.”

“It's fine.” What was sitting in that pot was probably tar by now. “Do you mind if I ask about the town after you get that started? I'm writing an anthology.” Patrick gave the warmest smile he could muster, hoping it would be enough to sell the lie. It was usually enough to sway his boss, Pete, but Pete could also be swayed by a light breeze.

Brendon returned Patrick’s smile. “Sure,” he said, ripping a page out of the notepad, “just give me a minute.” Off he went again, to the pass-through window. “Jon! Wake the hell up, we have a guest!”

Patrick busied himself with preparing his journal, writing down basic information like time, location, and interviewee so he wouldn't be pressed to scribble it in later.

It wasn't long before the coffee maker was percolating, filling the room with the heavenly scent of a fresh brew. Brendon returned shortly after, with a creamer tray and a mug that was partially filled with black sludge that may have once been coffee.

Patrick switched his gaze between Brendon and the questionable mug, eyebrows raised.

“It was just gonna be waste, anyways.” Brendon shrugged as he took the seat opposite Patrick. “What's your anthology about?”

“Unexplained events in the Midwest,” Patrick said, “I’m trying to get a few different stories from each state.” Patrick clicked his pen, all business. “So, have you heard anything unusual? Anyone been talking about poltergeists, or mentioning cryptid sightings?”

“Not that I recall.” Brendon furrowed his brows as he poured a few creamers into his coffee. “But I’ve only been living here a few weeks, so I don’t know much about the history of this town. There’s probably a couple ghosts in the graveyard, if I had to guess.”

Patrick hummed and jotted down some notes. _New to town. Double-check timeline._ “How about diseased crops, or animal deaths?”

Brendon wrapped his hands around his mug, not meeting Patrick’s gaze. “There’ve been a few crop failures, but it was raining all last week. The fields were flooded.” He took a sip of his drink and grimaced. “I think someone mentioned finding dead birds in their field.”

Patrick took this down, too, a frown forming. This conversation wasn’t going anywhere. “That’s all I have for now,” he sighed. “I’ll be collecting stories around here for a few days, if you notice anything.”

Brendon nodded and shuffled out of the booth, still cradling his mug. “I'll see you around, then,” he said, offering a smile that was much more subdued than before.

They didn't talk much after that, outside of the normal server-customer interaction. Patrick stewed over what little evidence he had, while Brendon spent most of his time in the back, talking to Jon.

Patrick made sure to leave a large tip when he decided to retire for the night. On the back of his receipt, he wrote down his cell number and a reminder to call if anything came up.

~~

Over the next few days, Patrick was able to collect more information on the case from the townsfolk. Given, none of what he’d gathered helped him find the demon, but it gave him a better idea of what he was working with.

Three different families had left town in the past month. In each case, the parents had stable jobs within the community and a kid attending the school in town. Enough to hint that something was going on, but not enough to predict the next target.

Patrick found himself at the diner again, journal splayed out in front of him, sipping at yet another cup of coffee as he watched the supper crowd beginning to pack up and leave and Brendon begin cleaning tables.

He had reason to believe that Brendon was somehow involved in this; after all, the timelines for the summoning and when Brendon arrived in town were pretty close. _Petty revenge plot? Coincidence?_ Patrick’s journal was filled with more stipulations than facts.

Patrick’s thoughts were broken by a girl running into the diner in a blue and black soccer uniform, her blonde ponytail bobbing up and down with each step. She was no older than twelve, if Patrick had to guess. “Hi, Brendon!” She beamed, giving a full-armed wave to the server.

“Delia!” Brendon easily returned the grin, and rushed over to the front. “Where’s your mom?” He leaned onto the service podium, brows drawn together with worry.

“Outside.” Delia shrugged and leaned forward, dropping her voice. Patrick strained to make out what she was saying. “Can you help me with her? Like you did with the bullies?”

Brendon rubbed at his neck, glancing away meeting Patrick’s gaze. He looked back to Delia, shoulders tense. Whatever he told her was too low and brisk for Patrick to catch.

Patrick’s hand went to his belt, feeling for his survival knife. He let out a breath when his fingers curled around its hilt. It would do if things went sour right now. Everything he needed for a proper exorcism was in the trunk of his car and, if he was right, he’d be needing it all tonight. He jotted down his suspicions.

_Potential connection. Waiter’s working with/for young girl. Case may be closed tonight._


End file.
